


A Sad Story

by autumnnnn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Jealousy, Scars, Sexual Tension, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnnnn/pseuds/autumnnnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr and Alayne are staying at the Gates of the Moon with the Royces. Sansa is jealous of Myranda and goes to see Petyr late one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sad Story

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Petyr x Sansa week (Day 2 - Scars) on tumblr. This is my first fic that I've ever posted. Don't mind my poor dialogue, I'm working on it.

One more glass of wine and he might not have heard the door squeak on its hinges. The sound was so subtle, it could have been mistaken for wind gusting through the castle, but he knew it was her. It was the reason he had left the door to his chamber cracked. He knew she would come.

The night had been lively and wine flowed endlessly as he lavished attention on the buxom brunette that sat beside him. Despite the festivities, he could feel Sansa’s gaze burning into him all evening. He would remind her to be more careful in the future. Dutiful daughters did not look at their fathers with such longing. 

She was seated across from him at dinner, just far enough away to miss the words he whispered into his partner’s ear. Earlier in the evening, she could have distracted herself with all the merriment, pretended like she didn’t see what was going on, but young Robert had retired and very few lords and ladies were left at the table other than Sansa, Myranda and himself.

Lady Waynwood and Sansa exchanged pleasantries and Anya told her all about Harry, but Petyr could tell Sansa was paying no attention to the woman. Her eyes often strayed to his before they would flutter back to Lady Waynwood. Myranda was only making it worse. She spent the evening laughing too loudly, trying to attract the attention of everyone in the room.

Her laughter grated on his nerves and he loathed the strong scent of lavender that hung in the air around her, but it was a necessary evil. Just as Sansa would do her duty in marrying Harrold, he would do his by wedding Myranda. It was the last thing he wanted, but there was little choice in this play for power. And deep down, he felt some sort of justice in Sansa’s jealousy for he knew it would pale in comparison to his own when she married the Heir. 

So when she excused herself shortly after Robert, he knew she would come to him later that night. When he found himself lingering on the idea of Sansa alone in his room, he finished another glass of Arbor wine and forced his thoughts onto another subject, but Myranda was well past drunk and despite the cleavage she was attempting to parade in his face, he had grown weary of her and her antics.

“My dear,” he paused to pick up her hand, “I apologize for cutting the evening short, but I think it’s time I turned in.”

Myranda pouted her lips. “But Petyr, you’ve hardly touched the wine you brought and it’s _so good_.” She leaned into his ear to whisper the last two words.

Petyr forced a smile and brought her hand up to his lips. “I’m sorry to disappoint, my love, but I really must go.” He placed a small kiss on the back of her hand and stood before she could complain. “I’m afraid I must bid the rest of you good night.” He gave a small bow and swept out of the room.

He hadn’t even made it to the hall outside his chambers when he heard the click of shoes on stone behind him. Soon after, a hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him to a halt. Brown eyes met his own and a small mouth collided with his. Her weight forced him back against the stone wall as her arms slid around his waist.

Petyr gave in for half a heartbeat before gently placing his hands on her shoulders to nudge her back. Their lips broke apart and Myranda let out a heaving breath.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your virtue before we’re wed, my dear,” he said.

“Oh, but no one would ever find out,” she said as she closed the gap between them. “And besides, what difference does it make if we’re already betrothed?” She kissed him again before he could protest.

Taking his hand, Myranda led Petyr down the hall to the apartments where he, Sansa and Robert were staying while at the Gates of the Moon. She pushed him up against the heavy wooden door bringing their lips crashing together once again. 

He moved from her lips, trailing hot kisses across her jaw to her neck. She let out a moan when he nipped at her soft skin, but the smell of lavender became overwhelming. Pulling away, he brought his hand up to her neck and tangled it through her hair, wishing it was copper tresses he was caressing instead of the dull brown before him.

“I do wish I could keep up with your vigor. Maybe ten years ago,” he chuckled, “but I really am exhausted and I have an early morning ahead of me. Please forgive me, love. We can pick this up when I return,” he said, placing another kiss to her lips.

“I can still stay with you tonight and help in _other_ ways,” she said.

The last thing he wanted was for Sansa to find Myranda in his bed. She would never come back to him if she did. Not that he even wanted Myranda in his bed. “What would your father think if he found you in my bed? He would throw me out the Moon Door himself.” He forced a smile and kissed the girl on her forehead. “Good night, dear. I will see you soon.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Myranda’s face before she relented. “Promise?”

“Of course. But you should get back to your own chambers before the guards find you wandering the halls and inform your father.”

Myranda nodded and left him with a sloppy, wet kiss before strutting down the hall.

Petyr dropped his smile and breathed a sigh of relief. They had done this dance almost every night since they arrived to the Gates of the Moon, and every night he was forced to fabricate a new excuse. She had put up much less of a fight this time, and for that he was grateful.

He pushed through the door to his room and crossed to the other side. He needed wine to wash away the taste of Myranda before it made him sick. He needed Sansa. Now. It had been too long since they had spent time alone together. It was more difficult here than in the Eyrie where people scarcely paid any attention to the coming and going of Lord Baelish and his bastard daughter. But tonight he knew she would find a way to slip into his room.

It was early yet, so he shrugged off his doublet and loosened the ties of his tunic before settling down with a flagon of wine and a full glass to watch flames dance in the hearth. How he wished it was Sansa that pressed him up against the cold stone wall instead of Myranda. He wanted to kiss porcelain skin, run his fingers through flaming locks, breathe in the scent of lemon and drown in the ocean of her eyes. But it wasn’t Sansa Stark that would come to him tonight, it was Alayne Stone.

Time passed slowly, agonizingly so, until he heard the door creak. Petyr didn’t know what time it was, but it must have been late enough for her to brave the trip between rooms. He hadn’t meant to be in such a disheveled state when she arrived, but it was too late now.

“Are you just going to stand there in the dark, Sweetling, or are you going to come properly greet your father?”

The door groaned as she pushed it open and he heard her feet shuffling against stone. She appeared next to his chair and stood wringing her hands together, still wearing her dress from earlier.

“Forgive me, Father. I didn’t know if you were still awake,” she said in a small voice.

Petyr set his glass down and reached over to pull her into his lap. She squirmed awkwardly, but he wrapped an arm behind her and around her waist to hold her in place.

“I am always awake when you need me, Alayne,” he said. “Now, it still seems as though you haven’t _properly_ greeted me. Care to change that?”

Sansa gave a small nod and brought a hand up to his collar using it to pull herself closer to him. Her pools of blue met grey-green orbs, but instead of closing them, she held his gaze. Her lips parted slightly and she quietly sucked in a breath while Petyr struggled to maintain his steady breathing.

He reveled in the faint scent of lemon and the warmth that radiated from her. He pulled her closer as he dug his fingers into her waist. The gasp that came from her mouth almost broke him, but he waited for her to press her lips against his. When she did, he expected her to pull away, but unpracticed lips stayed against his own. He moved his lips, molding them to hers and felt her grip on his tunic tighten.

He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold back. His hand ran up along her side, tracing the seams of her dress while the other rested on her thigh with fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh. He kissed her harder and buried his hand in her hair. Any moment now, she would pull away, he thought, but she kept her lips against his, following his lead.

His kisses became fervent, insistent when she ran her free hand up his chest. He wanted to kiss her velvet lips forever, but suddenly, their mouths broke apart and the silence in the room was filled with gasping. Again, their eyes met, but where Petyr was expecting to see fear, he saw desire.

Sansa’s small hand pushed his tunic off his shoulder and brushed along his skin. He held back a shiver, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He should stop her, he knew, but this was more than he could ever ask for. It was when her eyes strayed down that he broke from his reverie. Her jaw dropped and there was nothing he could do.

“An ugly sight, Sweetling. I didn’t mean to spoil the moment,” he said as he brought his hand up to caress her cheek.

She looked back up at him and quickly closed her mouth. “How… how did it happen?” Imploring eyes searched his face.

“It’s a sad story for another time. I don’t wish to ruin your evening.” He forced a small smirk, but was met with a hard gaze. His hand dropped back down into Sansa’s lap.

“Tell me. _I want to know_.” Her hand slid down from his shoulder to run along the length of the scar, but she quickly pulled away when Petyr flinched. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

“Not physically, no, but don’t worry about it. I’ll be alright.” He hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but she looked at him expectantly. “You really don’t know?” He asked.

Sansa’s brow furrowed and she shook her head, sending brown waves over her shoulders.

Petyr sighed and closed his eyes. “Your uncle gave this to me, a long, long time ago.”

She looked confused. “Uncle Benjen?”

He smiled. “Your uncle Brandon. Ned’s older brother. It was a token of his esteem.”

“But why? You knew him? When?” Questions spewed from her mouth.

“One at a time, my dear,” he chuckled. He was genuinely surprised at her curiosity, though disappointed their tender moment was forgotten. He took a breath before beginning his story. “I was a boy, not much older than you are now, and we were in Riverrun where I was ward to your grandfather, Hoster Tully. Your mother was betrothed to Brandon long before she met your father. She and I were close, very close and when she found out she was to wed the eldest Stark, I thought it wasn’t what she wanted. So, like any young, valiant knight, I challenged Brandon to a duel to defend her honor. But he was older and larger than I, and the fight was over before it started. I was just too foolish to see it. He cut me down, knocking me into the river with a final cut _here _,” he gestured to a spot just below his ribs, “and would have ended me had your mother not stopped him. She begged for him to spare my life, telling him I was only a boy. Clearly, he did, but not without leaving me with something to remember him by.” Petyr glanced down at the scar. It glowed pale white in the shadow Sansa cast across his figure and the raised, smooth skin marked a stark difference from the rest of his chest.__

__Sansa brought her hand up to the scar again, gently brushing her fingers across it. “You were just a boy, and he did this?” Her eyes shined with tears when their gaze met. “How could he do that to you?”_ _

__“A duel is a duel, my love. I knew what I was getting into when I challenged him. But I was fighting for _honor_ , so how could I not win?” He smiled and cupped her face in his hand, wiping a tear that slipped from her eye. “A sad story, indeed,” he said before softly kissing her lips._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: @autumnnnnnom.


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